


Space Buns (The Gluten-Free Remix)

by stardropdream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bakery, Bakery Shop Owner Shiro (Voltron), First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Season 8 Doesn't Exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24774739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: After the war, Shiro decides to follow his dream and open a bakery. The Paladins, of course, follow him to the alien colony on Covollu’s moon.Eventually, Keith starts working there with him every day.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 83
Kudos: 266
Collections: Sheith Remix 2020





	Space Buns (The Gluten-Free Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Baby, I Knead You (to butter my buns)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19990693) by [KaiserNoire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaiserNoire/pseuds/KaiserNoire). 



> For the [sheithremix](https://twitter.com/sheithmix), I got to work with [Misty's](https://twitter.com/KaiserNoire) fics. There were a few fics I debated remixing, but ultimately settled on their fun bakery AU! For the remix, I decided to make it canonverse and for Shiro to be the baker. 
> 
> I wanted to keep the themes from the original fic and some nods to the original, and especially the gluten-free aspect. Shiro and Keith (and most of the universe lol) are gluten-free in this fic! 
> 
> Huge shout-out and thanks to [Em](https://twitter.com/copilotsheith) for putting together such a great event! You are a super-star! And, thank you to [Abbey](https://twitter.com/sepiacigarettes) for the encouragement and brainstorming help!

Shiro’s alarm goes off at 5am the morning of his announcement. He sighs, gets up, and heads to his kitchen with purpose. With only a few hours to spare, he makes scones for the Paladins: 

• 55 grams coconut oil  
• 375 grams gluten-free all-purpose flour  
• 60 grams granulated sugar  
• 2 tablespoons baking powder  
• 1 can coconut milk  
• Eyeball the salt, dried lemon peel, blueberries 

All things considered, they turn out pretty well. He gently folds the dough and then shapes it before cutting into scone shapes— eight perfect scones for eight perfect people, he thinks with a dumb smile. 

Shiro can already guess how it’ll go: he’ll set the scones down and Hunk will appraise his, eat it, and swallow back helpful criticisms that he’ll issue to Shiro in private only once Shiro asks for it. Lance will scarf his down so fast that he’ll barely taste it. Pidge will pick out the blueberries when she thinks Shiro isn’t looking. Coran, Allura, and Romelle will all look uncertain until he assures them that there’s no milk, and then they’ll enjoy it heartily. 

Keith will eat his slowly, thoughtfully, as he does for everything Shiro makes for him. To Shiro, that’s always been Keith’s best sign to show his care: Shiro knows it’s Keith’s instinct, one he fights against often, to just inhale all food placed in front of him. That he’d slow down and savor so he can give Shiro a solid compliment once he’s finished (“Not too sweet,” he’ll say, or, “Did you use fresh blueberries this time? I like it”) is proof he cares. 

There’s no reason for Shiro to be nervous today. Yet he finds that he absolutely is as he pulls the scones from the oven and glazes them with the maple glaze he’s whipped up. 

Hours later, when he sets the scones in front of the Paladins, they do just as he expected. It leaves one final scone for Shiro, although today he ends up sharing it with Lance when he whines that he wants more. 

“So,” Shiro says once they all look pleased with their treats, the chatter dying down in favor of chewing. Shiro takes a steadying breath and puts his hands on his hips before announcing to the group: “I’ve decided to open a bakery.” 

He didn’t expect that anyone would protest. He knew that they’d all encourage him because they’ve been goading one another for phoebs to start pursuing new goals and dreams now that the war’s over. 

Lance licks his fingers free of the maple glaze as he polishes off his second scone. “Well, dang,” he says, grinning, the words easy and genuine. “Can’t wait to see what else you bake.” 

It opens the floodgates: everyone offers suggestions for what Shiro can make until, laughing, Shiro opens a PADD and dutifully marks down each thing he’ll make for his friends. 

“So, anyway,” Keith says once the conversation lulls. “When do we leave?” 

-

And that’s how Shiro’s bakery is born. 

He names it Starlight (Keith’s suggestion after they all got through the necessary but tedious _Voltron Bakery? No, Legendary Defenders Bakery? Legendary Bun-fenders?_ suggestions). 

Shiro can’t say that he expected all the Paladins to follow him, but he won’t pretend he isn’t touched that they did. Even with the war long behind them, the Paladins of Voltron aren’t done being in each other’s pockets. 

The moonbase colony they settle on turns out to be the best choice, too. It’s a central hub in the galaxy, not too far away from everything else, but not too close, either. Allura likes it for its juniberry farms and all the juniberry products (juniberry vinegars, juniberry teas, juniberry ointments, juniberry everything). Hunk likes it for its engineering marvels but its respectable restaurant scene— and he quickly builds a reputation as a tough but fair food critic. 

Shiro opens his bakery for six of the eight quintants of the movement, closing up shop on the Galran Quintants of Rest. Hours of operation range from the equivalent of eight AM to three PM. 

Shiro gets used to waking at what’s basically three AM to bake everything fresh and have it all ready. The Paladins switch off quintants for shifts— Allura takes the first of the movement, Lance the second, Hunk the third, and so on. It’s actually a huge relief to have someone helping him at the front of the store as he bakes everything up in the back. (Hunk is, of course, expressly forbidden from entering the backroom kitchen for fear of coup and mutiny.) 

(“Listen,” Hunk says one day, pouting as Shiro blocks the doorway, “Trust me, I don’t want your job. I like baking but I’d never want to make a career out of it.” He’s still shooed away all the same.) 

And mostly, even though it’s hard work and business is slow to start, Shiro is _happy_. He never grew up with aspirations of opening a bakery, but he always loved baking. Now, he gets to marry his two loves together: the stars and pastry. He gets to look out his storefront window and stare out at an alien market and alien street on an alien moon, surrounded by his friends and family.

And speaking of a great loves— Keith pokes his head in through the door separating kitchen to storefront and says, “Hey, Shiro, how’s it going back here?”

Shiro’s bakery has been open for only a couple movements, and business is still slow, but Shiro feels like he’s soaring. He hasn’t made any profit yet, despite Pidge’s excellent skills in creating spreadsheets and budget-management, plus a screaming pro-deal from Colleen Holt for her plant-based ingredients, but profit doesn’t really matter to Shiro. 

He's just happy to be doing something he can be proud of. He’s just happy that he gets to be here at all with Keith. And the others. 

“I’m great,” Shiro says. “Why?” 

Keith shakes his head. “Because I haven’t seen or heard from you in about four vargas. Have you taken a break at all?” 

“Oh shit,” Shiro says, “Keith, do you need a break? Sorry I abandoned you out there.” 

“Please,” Keith huffs, entering through the door to shoulder Shiro away from the marble slab Shiro uses for kneading, and starts shepherding him towards the front of house. “I’m talking about you, big guy.” 

Blushing, Shiro lets Keith corral him out past the register’s counter and into the customer seating area, letting Keith shove him down at one of the tables. It’s late in the quintant before closing and the bakery’s abandoned, the store-case modestly half-empty. 

Keith drops down into the spot next to him. “What were you working on?” 

“Egg-free macarons,” Shiro says and knows his voice sounds haunted. 

Keith’s eyes widen. “Uh, is that even possible?” 

“I’m using Altean juniberry paste,” Shiro says with a sigh. “Similar consistency, but we’ll see. I mean… Yeah. It’s kind of important, right?” 

Shiro’s learned three things since opening his bakery on Covollu’s moon: 

• The moon’s often bracketed with solar storms from the nearby sun, knocking out the grid from anywhere to a few doboshes to vargas to quintants. Shiro’s bakery comes with a back-up generator and he has yet to need it, but he’s terrified of the day he’s mid-bake and loses all electricity.

• Most aliens are naturally gluten-free. It seems it’s only weird humans who’ve managed to harness the power of wheat. Shiro’s looked through records and found evidence of alien rice flour, alien cornmeal, alien kelp flour, and alien cricket flour. But no wheat flour. It’s thankfully not been a problem, since Shiro’s gluten-free, too, but the first time he considered making some wheat-flour lava cakes, Allura’d look downright scandalized. 

• Most aliens are also super weird about eggs. Maybe it’s because so many of them lay eggs themselves for reproduction, but the first time he cracked an egg into the bowl, Romelle’s eyes widened and Coran turned pale. At first, Shiro thought it was a milk situation— he can sympathize, having lived most of his life vegetarian or mostly vegan— but then Coran whispered, “But who’s child is that?” and Shiro had been on the lookout for replacements ever since. 

And so, juniberry paste. It has the consistency of raw eggs, and when Shiro whips it up enough, it starts to peak like meringue. He can even do the over-the-head trick, which he did once for Keith just to make him laugh. 

Really, Shiro would do most anything if it meant making Keith laugh. 

“Well,” Keith says with a hum. “… I love macarons.” 

“I know,” Shiro says. He remembers that about Keith, the first time he ever baked for him. It was years and years ago now, at the Garrison. Shiro learned of Keith’s birthday one day before the date and spent that evening struggling to make lumpy, crackly macarons. They never really rose enough, their feet painfully absent, but Keith had loved them. Shiro might be a perfectionist, but Keith’s never turned away any of Shiro’s failures. 

“So, whatever you come up with,” Keith says with a small smile, “I know it’ll be great. Your stuff’s always perfect.” 

“Hardly,” Shiro says, rubbing at his shoulder. Allura’s made him a new prosthesis designed especially for baking. It’s equipped with less nooks and crannies for dough to get stuck in but has a powered wrist to help with kneading. He grins at Keith. “ _You’re_ what’s perfect.” 

“Shut up,” Keith says, voice overly fond. “Go make your macarons.” 

-

Shiro inputs all the popular flavors into his PADD, marking what worked one movement and not the next, switching out his recipes to try new things and not fall into a rut. He perfects the juniberry paste texture and replaces all the eggs in all his recipes, not just his macarons. 

The Paladins work their shifts and offer their input. He accepts that, aside from Keith and maybe Romelle, everybody will sneak some pastries from the case. Shiro always makes extras anyway, always making sure his friends head home with a box of goodies. Usually only Keith tries to refuse and then acquiesces when Shiro unleashes the puppy eyes. 

It's worth it, always, to see the little smile that flicks across Keith’s lips after the first bite into a pastry Shiro made especially for him. 

-

In the two phoebs since Shiro’s opened shop, he’s learned that his customers like the following flavors: 

• Raspberry  
• Chocolate  
• Lemon  
• Rosemary  
• Juniberry  
• Matcha 

Disgustingly, Shiro soon learns their absolute favorite flavor, though: 

• All of the above combined

When the first customer suggests it, Shiro thinks she must be joking. But she looks dead serious and repeats the request. After that, another customer suggests it. And then another.

When Shiro grimaces and combines the flavors together in cupcakes, he’s certain it’ll be a failure. Instead, they sell out within vargas. 

Keith, who’s working that day, only raises his eyebrows and shrugs. “Maybe we’re missing something?” 

Shiro grimaces again, more theatrically this time, because he knows it’ll make Keith roll his eyes. 

-

The first time a solar storm knocks the grid offline, Shiro curses and has to start over on his macaron recipe. Juniberry paste is notoriously finicky. Any shift in temperature in the oven means a very flat, very gummy macaron. 

Keith eats them anyway. “It’s like macaron bubblegum or something.”

“Disgusting,” Shiro says. 

Keith nudges his shoulder with his, his eyes softening. “Hey. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” 

Shiro knows that Keith knows all about Shiro’s perfectionism tendencies. Shiro doesn’t put voice to it and, thankfully, Keith doesn’t press it too much after that. 

The next quintant is his day off, though, and that’s a relief. He hasn’t quite adjusted to the eight-quintant work-movement (still wants to call it an eight-day work-week even though he knows it’s not accurate), but at least the residents of Covollu’s moon are consistent and understanding: they don’t tend to come to the bakery later in the afternoon, and so Shiro never feels bad about closing up early once everything’s sold. 

It means he can spend most afternoons and evenings with Keith, which he’s been doing with much more frequency lately. 

It’s strange just how much Covollu feels like home, even after being here for two months. It’s a hub of activity and commerce, with so many different types of businesses sweeping across the base, from the mundane to the more exotic. 

The Paladins have all found their place. Pidge’s launched a bookkeeping side-business when not designing new electronics to make the base run more efficiently. Hunk is a food critic in his own right. Allura serves as ambassador to the juniberry farms, helping to instill the best practices. Coran is apparently the darling of the local open-mic nights. Romelle and Lance have started learning tai chi at the local community center. 

Life is good, Shiro thinks. Peacetime suits them all. 

“Me?” Keith says when Shiro asks him if he’s started looking into other hobbies or jobs. His brow crinkles. “Why would I go anywhere else when I have Starlight?” 

It makes Shiro flush, his smile helpless when he says, “Keith, I never said all of you had to work for me forever, you know.”

Keith rolls his eyes and shrugs. “I like it. I like doing retail.”

“ _Really,_ ” Shiro says, disbelieving. 

“I’m good at not taking bullshit,” Keith says. “Plus, the customers aren’t dicks. And they don’t think I’m weird in comparison to other humans.” He pauses. “Double plus, I know the boss and he pays me very well.” 

Shiro blushes more and laughs. “Come on.”

“I’m serious. I love working for you. I… Well. I love you,” Keith says, like it’s easy. And for Keith it always has been, Shiro thinks. “I want you to be happy. I want to see you happy. And if I can help with that… well.” 

And still Shiro fumbles. “I just— don’t feel like you have to, you know? I don’t want you to feel obligated or like I’m burdening you with this.”

Keith’s hand whips out and covers Shiro’s where it’s resting on the table they’re sitting at, two drip coffees cooling between them. Keith smiles, his eyes soft. 

“You are literally never a burden to me,” Keith says, and Shiro knows that’s true, knows that Keith’s never seen him as such. He knows, deep down to his core, to the very soul that Keith helped return to this body, that everything Keith does for him, he does willingly and freely— because he wants to, because he can, because Keith knows that life is a gift and that Shiro, too, is a gift. 

Sometimes it overwhelms Shiro, to be the receiver of such devotion. 

Other times, like now, it just makes him feel like he could sprint for a thousand lightyears and never tire, like he could achieve anything and everything. In this case, maybe, perfect that macaron recipe for Keith.

“Thank you, Keith.” 

Shiro turns his hand up so their fingers slot together. He squeezes once, knowing that he’s always going to remember the particular soft shape of Keith’s smile, sitting in the Covollu sunlight, eyes staring right into Shiro’s. 

-

Shiro thinks about what Keith said, even vargas later: _Well. I love you._

It’s not the first time Keith’s said as much. Sometimes, Shiro thinks he knows what he means— a friend, a brother. Sometimes, instead, a desire to be more. For all that Keith wears his heart on his sleeve with Shiro, always brutally honest, sometimes Shiro struggles to identify what it is that Keith wants from him. 

-

Things fall into their routine. Routine used to drive Shiro crazy, even if he understood the necessity of it. He used to revolve his life around routine— the consequence of military school, after all, and then the life of a soldier— but the routine of baking is something quieter, but no less firm. 

Shiro wakes up well before dawn each day, creates his pastries, camps out in the kitchen to avoid people and experiment with flavors (Lemon and pepper today? Thyme and Olkari chocolate? Squim-nut and chili?), emerges in the afternoon once the clientele tapers off to speak with whatever Paladin is working today (and Keith once he inevitably comes to visit even though he’s not on the clock), closes up shop, goes home to relax and make dinner, then falls asleep early to start it all over again.

It's actually kind of perfect. 

Speaking of perfect— Keith sticks his head into the back room and says, “McMuscles was in earlier and cleared you out, by the way.”

“I’m sorry, who?” Shiro asks, cleaning his hands free of the tacky gluten-free dough he’s been kneading. 

“Oh, uh. I don’t know his name,” Keith confesses as Shiro shoulders open the door to follow Keith out to the register. Keith gestures to the empty case. “Big Galra guy, all muscley. He fucking loves your macarons.” 

Shiro knows he should be happy that they’re getting increased business (slow and steady!), but Shiro can’t help but frown. “Did you set any aside for you, though?”

“Nah,” Keith says. “Better to give it to paying customers, right?” 

Shiro feels himself pout. He made those macarons for Keith, not for customers. Or, well, some for customers, too, but at least a couple for Keith. Keith loves raspberry and pepper. Shiro has no right to feel frustrated by a customer doing what he should be wanting customers to do. 

But, usually, the macarons don’t move as fast as other pastries. Usually, Shiro can send Keith home with a package of leftover pastries, but especially the macarons. 

Shiro stares at the completely bare case, the entire bottom shelf that was filled with three dozen macarons just a varga ago completely gone. It’s only a couple vargas past sunrise. They’ve barely been open long enough for the case to be empty. 

“He seriously cleared us out,” Shiro says. 

“He usually does whenever you do the cracked black pepper raspberry combo,” Keith says. His mouth twitches like he’s fighting back a smile, especially when he looks at Shiro’s stupid pout. “Aliens go absolutely feral for it, I guess. Who doesn’t love pepper?” 

Shiro would vow to never make the combo again if he didn’t know that Keith likes it, too. 

“Did he say anything about the flavor?” Shiro asks, finally accepting that maybe, just maybe, he should act professional and not pouty just because he can’t give Keith his favorite dessert to take home. He crosses his arms and resolutely does _not_ pout. “About the consistency? The juniberry paste?” 

Keith shakes his head. “He just pointed them out and paid. If you’re wondering about feedback,  
I can already tell you that he loves them.” 

Shiro gives Keith a helpless look. 

Keith laughs at his expression. “That guy loves everything you make, trust me. He like… has a crush on your baking or something.” 

“He does not.” The very idea is mortifying to him, even more so if Keith is acting as go-between. “I’m the only bakery on base.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “You’re like a secret culinary genius.”

“That’s Hunk,” Shiro says. “I’m just pretty good at gluten-free stuff.” 

“Just accept that you have loyal customers and they love what you do, Shiro,” Keith says, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows in that _I’m ready to fight_ sort of way that Shiro always really loves about Keith. 

But, well, he really just loves everything about Keith, if he’s being honest. 

Shiro grins, feeling stupid and bubbly. A common feeling lately when it comes to being around Keith. “I’ll make some more macarons for tonight that you can bring home.”

“You will do no such thing,” Keith says, cheeks flushing. “Paying customers only, Shiro.” 

He pushes Shiro back into the kitchen, which is Keith’s first fatal mistake— after all, that’s Shiro’s element and he’s gotten pretty good at the macaron recipe. 

-

Shiro finishes baking Keith some macarons just as they’re closing up shop.

Keith scolds him, but also takes the black box anyway. “ _Shiro._ ” 

“Because I love you,” Shiro says and holds his breath. 

Keith rolls his eyes before he pops the lid and plucks out one macaron, shoving it into Shiro’s mouth and making sure he chews. 

“I should just accept you’re stubborn as hell,” Keith says.

Shiro blushes the entire short walk back to his apartment, the taste of cracked black pepper and raspberry lingering on his tongue and wondering if he’d taste it on Keith’s if they kissed. 

-

Shiro starts making macarons every day that Keith’s working. He knows that Keith notices because he scoffs the first time he walks on for his shift and sees Shiro kneeling and stocking the front case. 

“Shiro,” Keith says, admonishing as Shiro purposefully packs away twelve into one of the bakery’s black and red boxes, marking Keith’s name with a silver sharpie on the lid. He dots the “i” with a heart. 

“Keith,” Shiro answers with a sunny smile as he straightens and closes the back of the case with a definitive fold. “Pistachio today. Your second favorite.”

Keith’s mouth wobbles with a smile as he ducks his head, looking down. “For fuck’s sake.”

It makes Shiro laugh, warm and bubbling and just a little startled. The words aren’t vehement at all, only fond. When Keith looks back up at him, cheeks dusted pink, he’s smiling outright. 

“So,” Keith says after he clears his throat. “What are you working on today?” 

Shiro hums as he flips through his ingredient stocks on his PADD and scrolls through the possible flavor profiles he’s been toying with. 

“How do you think our customers will feel about floral flavors?” Shiro asks. Shiro’s always privately hated the taste of and the smell of roses, but he’s willing to experiment if it means making customers happy. He thinks the lavender-lemon scones went over pretty well last movement, and he hasn’t gotten any horrifying requests to combine it with matcha-strawberry again. Not yet, at least. 

“You’re asking me?” Keith asks as he flips on an apron— the bakery’s unofficial uniform— and ties it off behind his back.

“Of course,” Shiro says. “I value your opinion. More than anyone’s.”

“Even Hunk?”

“Hunk is… pretentious about baking,” Shiro says in a low voice. “I think he’s going to judge me forever for my pedantic choice of salted caramel.” 

Keith barks a laugh. “I’m telling him you said that.”

“Noooo,” Shiro says, dramatically wilting against the counter. “Don’t. He’ll never make me lunch again and I need him.” 

Keith’s too busy laughing to respond, slumping against his side of the counter. Shiro wants to pull him into his arms and feel the rumble of his laughter down his entire front. He resists. 

“Okay, but seriously,” Shiro insists once Keith’s laughter subsides. “Florals?” 

Keith considers, tapping his bottom lip with his thumb. That’s utterly distracting. 

“They’ll like rosewater,” Keith decides. 

“Eugh. I was afraid you’d say that,” Shiro says with a sigh. He takes a deep, steadying breath. “Alright. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” Keith says and sounds like he means it.

-

Shiro finishes prepping some tartlets for tomorrow and lets out a pleased sigh, washing his hands clean and grinning down at the adorable assortment of kiwis and strawberries. 

Completed with his tasks, he heads towards the front to give Keith his break. Like most quintants, it’ll be slow and they’ll likely close up early. 

Shiro’s trying to work up the courage to invite Keith up to his apartment to watch a movie together. 

Shiro has a dumb little couch, more a loveseat, and he thinks that maybe if he plans it out right, Shiro can sling his arm around the back of the couch and, maybe, tug Keith in closer. And maybe Keith will let him. They can cuddle and watch a movie together.

Maybe, if Shiro is very brave and Keith seems to like it, they could kiss while watching. 

Smiling stupidly at the very thought of it, Shiro runs his hands back through his flour-dusted hair before he slips out into the storefront. 

He’s utterly shocked to see not the usual afternoon lull but, instead, a storefront crammed with customers. Starlight’s clientele has been steadily growing for the past movements, but this is a new level entirely. 

“K- Keith?” Shiro asks as Keith works the register, ducking away to pack up boxes and collecting the specified GAC. 

“Word of mouth’s gotten around,” Keith says with a grin. He looks feral in the lighting, beautiful and competitive, like he’s in the middle of battle and he knows he’s going to win. Shiro starts sweating. 

“You have no idea,” Hunk says as he shoves past, placing down two containers of food, a common practice for Hunk: he’s absolutely forbidden from going back into the kitchen to micromanage Shiro, but that doesn’t stop him from showing up with food because he knows Shiro and Keith aren’t going to eat lunch otherwise. 

Shiro can’t even think of eating until he ducks down to help Keith through this mini-rush, filling up orders as Keith rattles them off, only fumbling when he keeps needing to clarify if someone’s ordered the macaroons versus the macarons (and he’s never going to bake the two together ever again, he vows silently). 

Shiro remembers to breathe only once they finally have a lull. Hunk watches them with raised eyebrows and wordlessly holds out the food containers to them both. When Shiro pops his open, he’s met with the perfect scent of dumpling soup. He hums happily and digs in, taking a huge spoonful even when he knows it’s going to burn the tip of his tongue. 

“What do you mean?” Keith asks Hunk. “About having no idea?” 

“Dude, you two sold to Pan last week,” Hunk says. When Shiro and Keith give him blank looks, he clucks disappointedly. “Pan? Like, Pan, the Pan? Guys, come on! She’s a huge name in pastries. Like, celebrity chef but like. Universally celebrity.” When Shiro and Keith continue to look blankly onward, Hunk just sighs. “Anyway, she wrote you two a review and boosted you on Universagram. You’re blowing up!” 

“Oh no,” Shiro says with dread. He swallows around a lump of dumpling and tries to be thrilled rather than terrified. 

Hunk frowns. “That isn’t the reaction you should be having.”

“No, I know, I just…” Shiro fiddles with his hair, tugging on his ear. “I definitely am not going to have enough macarons for tomorrow.”

Keith snorts softly and shakes his head. “Better eat that soup quick, big guy.” He rolls up his sleeves. “We’ve got a rush to prepare for.” 

-

Instead of inviting Keith up to watch a movie, the two of them spend the afternoon prepping for the next quintant. 

As it turns out, Keith’s pretty good at baking, or at least assisting and anticipating what it is that Shiro needs. They move seamlessly through the kitchen together, ducking in and out of each other’s space, passing ingredients, checking things off on the PADD.

“Growing up, with Pop,” Keith says. “We ate gluten-free. It helped my mood, you know? I’d get all loopy on gluten and it just… got easy to cut it out of our diets entirely.” Keith smiles as he kneads into the dough for cinnamon rolls. He’s tied his hair back into a bun and he’s never looked more handsome. “It was crazy. I’d eat one thing that had gluten in it, and then I’d be acting like I was high.” 

“I’ve heard that can happen sometimes for people,” Shiro says quietly, not wanting to overstep or break the gentleness of Keith’s memory.

Keith smiles though and nods. “Yeah, exactly. Anyway, I learned a few recipes from doing that. Never thought of macarons, though. Probably Pop thought it was too complex for a kid.” He turns to Shiro, laughing. “But, I did learn I fucking hate chickpea flour so thanks for never using it.”

“Love chickpeas, but not in my pastries,” Shiro agrees. Every time he’s tried using it, it just tastes like hummus. 

By the end of the evening, they have a hefty batch of scones, macarons, lava cakes, cupcakes, tartlets, petit fleurs, and marble cakes prepped. Shiro’s exceptionally proud of them both.

He feels the most triumphant, though, when Keith lets him wipe away a spot of flour stuck to his cheek. They smile at each other until Keith looks down, blushing. 

-

Shiro’s not sure when it starts happening, but slowly, Keith’s one shift becomes two shifts becomes three shifts becomes four shifts, which becomes Keith working every day that Shiro’s bakery is open. 

“Morning, Shiro,” Keith says, his voice scratchy and addictive in the morning. 

Even sleepy Keith looks gorgeous. Resting on his folded arms on the counter, he watches Shiro as he works, kneading into the dough. Shiro loves that about Keith— how intense his eye contact can be. (“I never know how long to look,” Keith admitted to him once, years ago, “I either do too little or too much.” He’d smiled so sweetly when Shiro answered that he liked Keith’s eyes on him.) 

“Looking good?” Shiro asks, gesturing to the dough.

“Looking good,” Keith says, eyes sliding over Shiro’s biceps and up to his eyes, his smile teasing. 

-

This is what Shiro learns quickly about his increased clientele: 

• They love weird flavors  
• They can never get enough  
• They absolutely lose their minds over Shiro’s macarons 

Shiro suspects the massive popularity to macarons is simply because other species don’t have an equivalent dessert. Shiro suspects that somewhere out in the universe, a French baker feels exceptionally proud or exceptionally mortified about it.

Shiro is good at math. He can do complicated bits of it in his head in order to adjust his recipes. But he never could have predicted the amount of increased business Pan would bring for them. The first day after her posts went live on Universagram, there was a line waiting outside when Shiro emerged from the kitchen to unlock the front door. By the time Keith managed to elbow his way in, he looked a mixture of impressed and vaguely disconcerted. 

“Holy shit,” he says, looking bewildered but also grinning. “They’re all for you, huh?” 

The next quintants after that, it just kept happening. 

“It’s because no one else in the entire quadrant makes macarons,” Shiro says. “We’ve cornered the gluten-free market.” 

Keith shakes his head. “This is amazing, Shiro. You deserve it. You’ve worked so hard.”

“ _We’ve_ worked hard,” Shiro insists, squeezing Keith’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t be here without you. This is both of us.”

Keith smiles. “You— _we_ deserve far more than this, then. Honestly. All this stuff is so damn good and like… you’re working so hard. And, ha…” Keith pauses, flustered and fumbling. “You know I’m so picky about this kinda shit and you’re seriously amazing. As soon as you nail those chocolate chip cookies, I’m never eating anything else.”

“You going to eat me out of business, Keith?” 

“Don’t challenge me,” Keith says, mouth playing at a smile, tucked into the corner. “I can eat a lot.” 

He sounds teasing, all lilted and sweet, and Shiro feels squirmy deep down in his gut. 

“Well,” Shiro says, shifting his hip to lean against the counter, crossing his arms and smiling at Keith. “I never say no to a good challenge.” 

Keith outright grins then shoves gently at Shiro’s shoulder, his touch lingering. “Can’t wait to eat all your cookies forever, then.” 

“Can’t wait to feed you cookies forever,” Shiro says. It feels like flirting. He thrills at the thought of it, at the silly smile Keith casts his way— more goofy than flirtatious but just as devastating. The way his hand lingers on Shiro’s shoulder and slides down, touching his chest before it ghosts away. Flirting or not, Shiro knows that Keith always appreciates the absolutes. 

Forever. 

Shiro dares to reach out and take Keith’s hand, squeezing. Keith laughs and squeezes back. 

“Come on,” Keith says, tugging Shiro back towards the kitchen. “We have work to do.” 

Every afternoon, after they close— usually early since they get cleared out— Keith dons a clean apron, washes his hands, and helps Shiro with his prep and baking. 

Shiro reminds himself it’s not a date. But, when it’s Keith, it’s easy to think it is. Somehow, even just crammed into the bakery’s kitchen weaving around one another feels like a date, more intimate than cuddling together watching a movie. 

“Goodnight,” Keith says every time they part, slinging on his coat and taking one step backward, unwilling to tear his eyes away from Shiro. “Hope you sleep well.”

“Always do,” Shiro says, which is true. If anything, opening a bakery has done wonders for his PTSD and nightmares— exhaustion proves he sleeps well through the night, waking just before his alarm. 

Keith nods. “See you tomorrow!” 

“Night,” Shiro calls. “Love you!” 

“You too!” Keith waves every time before he turns, grinning, and disappears into the night. 

-

“Hey, Shiro?” Keith asks the next quintant as they start wrapping everything up for the afternoon. 

Shiro scrubs his sponge over the many nooks and crannies of his many whisks. “Yeah?”

“What are you doing two nights from now?” 

“Nothing, I think. What else would I be doing?” Shiro asks, laughing as he shuts off the water. “Why?” He ducks his head, grinning a bit as he meets Keith’s eyes. “Are you asking me out?” 

Keith sputters an embarrassed laugh. “God— no, no. More like, asking you in, I think. I thought… I, um. I thought we could work on those flavor profiles we’ve been talking about. Taste-test it and stuff. Figured we could— so I thought— anyway, maybe that’s stupid. You already work so hard.” 

“Keith,” Shiro says, interrupting gently. “I’d love to spend time with you. Truthfully, I’ve been trying to find the way to invite you over for a movie night or something. Something lowkey. Just the two of us.” 

Baking together and then moving to Shiro’s apartment, cuddling on a couch. Maybe kissing on a couch, if Shiro works up the nerve. 

“Really?” Keith asks. “You could have just offered.”

“I am now,” Shiro says. “Two nights from now. Let’s work on our flavor profiles and then I’ll make you dinner and we’ll watch a movie.”

“And you’ll pass out right after eating, like usual,” Keith says, teasing. He shakes his head before Shiro can protest. “Sounds perfect. I’m in.” 

“It’s a date,” Shiro says. 

Keith beams at him and then looks away, tying his hair back into a messy bun, ready to get started. Quietly, smiling to himself, Keith murmurs, “It’s a date.” 

Shiro turns back to the sink and pretends he’s not blushing up to his ears. 

-

When the evening of their date arrives, Keith lets himself into the bakery with the key Shiro gave him movements ago. It’s one of the days the bakery is closed, so it’ll be easy to just focus on baking with Keith. A date with Keith. Shiro’s cleaned and disinfected everything down before setting the ingredients out. He grins when he hears Keith slip into the room.

The sky outside is dark, threatening a solar storm later, but they’re not too worried with Shiro’s back-up generator. Shiro keeps meaning to have Hunk and Pidge double-check it for efficiency, but for now, it’s hard to think of anything beyond baking, baking, and more baking for their increased customer base. 

It’s easy to fall into their usual duck-and-weave. They try out new flavor profiles Keith’s been asking of customers, testing and changing the batters as they go. Keith obediently tastes when Shiro offers, popping the spoon into his mouth with a thoughtful hum before issuing his verdict.

They make any manner of new recipes over the next vargas— banana bread, cookies, mini-cakes, mousse pops, cheesecakes, and puddings. The kitchen smells delicious and Shiro is thrilled with most of the combinations of flavors, even if he thinks he still needs to work on his ratios to keep his desserts from being too dry.

This is what Shiro knows about baking with Keith: 

• He loves it  
• It’s perfect  
• It’s _fun_

Most of all and most importantly, this is what Shiro knows: 

• How desperately he loves Keith 

By the time they’re finished with their recipes, the sky is completely dark outside, sunset long since passed. Keith huffs and leans against the counter, hands braced to keep him upright as he rolls each ankle slowly. 

If Shiro weren’t sure it’d freak Keith out, he’d drop to his knees right now and massage Keith’s feet for him. Maybe tonight, while they’re watching their movie, he can offer. Maybe he’ll be able to do it before he passes out, exhausted from the day. 

Shiro’s stupid schedule is why they all do Paladin Brunch instead of Paladin Dinner now. 

“Ready to call it good once we’re done with the shortbread?” Keith asks, eyeing the oven. 

“Sounds good,” Shiro says. “I rented us the newest Bii-Boh-Bii thriller.” 

“Perfect,” Keith says with a laugh. “You want to head to your apartment and let me clean up for you? I can finish up if you need to rest.”

“As if you actually think I’m taking that offer,” Shiro says with a scoff. His apartment is just upstairs above the bakery, but there’s no way he’s leaving Keith down here to clean up Shiro’s own mess. 

“I just don’t want you to have to do everything,” Keith says. “I feel like I’ve barely helped.” 

“Are you kidding? You’re amazing,” Shiro says. “Besides, you’re not afraid to tell me if something tastes like shit. Very valuable.” 

“I’ve never said that.” 

“You said the banana bread tasted bad.”

“I said I don’t usually like banana bread but yours wasn’t bad!”

“That means you hated it.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Fine.” 

Shiro makes a dramatic fist clench, thrilling in his victory. It’s worth it to make Keith laugh again, fondly but exacerbated. 

“Here, I’ll help you clean up,” Keith says, turning to the sink. He starts filling it with soapy water. 

Shiro whines, ready to unleash the puppy eyes he knows works so well on Keith. “You don’t have to! I’m the one who made the mess.” 

“Shiro,” Keith says when what he really means is _Hush._

It’s the same tone Shiro’s mother uses. Shiro chooses to shut up and finish piping out some delicate chocolate work to put on top of the shortbread. 

Keith starts cleaning out one of the discarded bowls of rhubarb cookies (a failure, in Shiro’s opinion, although Keith had been somewhat favorable). 

“Seriously, I should just make you assistant baker,” Shiro says. “Your ideas are always way better than mine. Combinations I never would have thought of.”

Keith ducks his head but not before Shiro catches his smile. “You’re a great baker, Shiro. You’ve worked hard. You know we’re all proud of you.” 

“Half the time, I feel like I need you,” Shiro says. Then he laughs, blushing. “Ha, pun.”

“What?” 

Shiro makes the gesture through the air, like he’s working dough. “I _knead_ you.”

“Shiro, what the fuck,” Keith says, startled into laughter. “And besides… you could do this without me. Really. You can do anything.” 

“Calling me stubborn, Keith?”

“You’re dedicated.” Keith pauses, turning his head to smile gently at Shiro. “It’s one of the things I love about you.” 

Shiro smiles back, his heart fluttering in his chest. “I love you, too, Keith.” 

He just catches the glimpse of Keith’s smile, softening at the edges, when suddenly the entire moon base shakes, rocked forward as the solar storm finally hits.

Except this time, of course, the electricity goes with it. One moment he’s standing there, watching Keith at the sink, their smiles soft and matching, Shiro’s heart pounding with the possibility of _maybe, yes, maybe—_

And then they’re in the dark.

“Fuck!” Keith curses as he stumbles around. “The shortbread!” 

The juniberry paste is unforgiving and Shiro knows it’s a lost cause when he rushes to the generator, thumping it a few times when it doesn’t automatically kick on. He heaves a sigh. 

“At least that’s the last thing… we can redo it in the morning.” 

Keith grunts. “Shit. How damn annoying.” 

Shiro’s eyes adjust to the dark slowly, but Keith’s are much quicker thanks to his Galra heritage. He finds Shiro easily, fingers curling around his wrist and guiding him away from the generator. 

“What now?” Keith says. 

“We could go upstairs, although that’ll be out of power, too. But no sense in fumbling in the dark to clean dishes. We can do it in the morning.” 

“At least you’re saying ‘we’,” Keith says. “If you try to sneak down here to do the dishes without me, I’ll hear you and bite you.”

Shiro snorts a laugh, bracing his hands against the counter and, effectively, caging Keith in. 

It seems at the same moment, they both notice the position. He hears Keith take in a deep breath. He’s sure that in the dark, with his superior sight, Keith can see the way Shiro’s cheeks blush red. 

But Shiro doesn’t pull away. He thinks about the gift for Keith in the cooler, the dessert he’d hurriedly put together just before Keith arrived. 

Shiro licks his lips. His eyes are adjusted to the dark enough that he sees Keith’s eyes flicker down, watching the movement. 

And then Keith looks up at Shiro with half-lidded eyes, looking beautiful in the deep dark of the bakery. Shiro feels his hair fall into his eyes and resists the urge to push it away, too afraid to break the silence between them, to move his arms from pressing against the counter, bracketing Keith in.

He doesn’t need to worry. Like a spell’s been cast, Keith’s hand lifts and brushes the hair away, his fingers following the curve of Shiro’s jaw. The touch feels like fire under Shiro’s skin, like he can feel every whirl of Keith’s fingerprints against his cheek. 

Keith swallows, his hand drifting. He touches Shiro’s jaw, then the slope of his neck, over past his adam’s apple and at the flex of muscle and skin as Shiro swallows. Keith trails down, past Shiro’s collarbone and rests there against his chest, just his fingertips, then dropping away again. 

Through it all, neither of them says a thing. Until, quietly, Shiro shatters the silence a breath. “Keith.” 

“Yes?” 

Shiro’s not sure if Keith’s still breathing. Shiro definitely isn’t. 

“What you said,” Shiro says. “Before the lights went out.”

Keith looks at him, waiting, then lets out the softest breath. “Yeah.” 

“What you’ve said— God. For movements now.” 

“Yeah,” Keith says again. 

“And I’m saying it back.” 

Keith pauses. Then says, quieter still, “Yeah.” 

Shiro hesitates only a moment before, tentatively, he lifts his hand to touch Keith’s face, his thumb slotting easily into the curve of Keith’s scar, his palm cupping his cheek. Keith takes a little breath and then leans into the touch. 

“It… I’m sorry,” Shiro says quietly. “It took me a while to realize. That we meant it the same way.” 

Keith holds his breath. “We do?” 

He sounds so hopeful. It nearly bowls Shiro over. 

“We do,” Shiro confirms, and before he wimps out, before he freaks out, before he convinces himself that he’s wrong and Keith actually does mean it in a friendly, platonic way, he jerks back. “Wait. I have something for you.”

“Wh—” 

Keith doesn’t get to finish before Shiro darts to the cooler, popping it open to fetch the black and red box. He’s hit with a blast of cool air but shuts the door quickly before it fully escapes, wanting to conserve it as much as possible since he has no idea how long it'll take for the solar storm to pass.

He returns to Keith and holds the box out. “Here.” 

“What is it?” Keith asks and Shiro can’t quite place his tone, can’t see his expression enough to read it.

“Open it and find out.” 

Keith huffs and then does just that, popping the lid on the box and peering inside.

What follows is one of the longest, most excruciating silences of Shiro’s life. He holds his breath, waiting, as Keith stares into the box. 

Or, more specifically, stares at the giant macaron he spent the entire afternoon mixing and building, terrified of Keith walking in and seeing it, terrified of it cracking and coming out imperfectly. 

It’s still imperfect, oblong and not the flawless heart shape that Shiro was aiming for. He’d used two pieces of parchment paper to make the same pattern of heart so that each half would be identical, but it still turned out wonky. 

It’s Keith’s favorite flavor: cracked black pepper and raspberry, filled with fluffy whipped cream as its center and a raspberry gelee. 

The silence stretches for so long as Keith studies the macaron. 

Finally, finally, Keith says, “It’s a macaron.” 

“A giant one,” Shiro says.

“… It’s heart-shaped.” 

“Yeah,” Shiro says, still unsure how to read Keith’s reaction. “Because— because I love you.” 

“Oh,” Keith whispers and it’s then that Shiro realizes Keith’s eyes are misting over. He can see the glint of them in the dark. 

“Keith—” Shiro says, startled, “oh, I’m sorry, please— don’t cry—” 

Keith shakes his head. “Fuck, Shiro! I love you _so much_!” 

“Oh—” Shiro says in a rush as Keith sets the box down without tasting the macaron. 

Before Shiro can despair, Keith steps closer, lifts his hands to cup Shiro’s cheeks, and drags him down, kissing him soundly on the mouth. It steals Shiro’s breath, hitching and quiet.

When Keith draws back, blinking up at him, he murmurs, “Yeah?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Shiro agrees and dives down to kiss him again. 

Shiro knows this, absolutely: 

• He loves kissing Keith  
• Keith loves kissing him, too, apparently  
• He could kiss Keith for hours and never get tired of it 

And really, Shiro can’t think of any recipe better than the way they fold together, the soft breath of Keith’s mouth against his, the whisper of his name said like _that_. 

There is, Shiro’s sure, nothing better in the entire universe. He kisses Keith in his— _their_ dark bakery, the two of them bathed in starlight.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
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